


Out of the Box

by starryskeyess



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Semi-Public Sex, Underage Sex, no beta we die like men, stuck in a box
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryskeyess/pseuds/starryskeyess
Summary: When Keith doesn't show up for a sparring session, Shiro is worried and tracks him down, and gets more than he bargained for.“Keith--” he gets out, before Keith slaps a hand over his mouth.  The door is slammed shut behind Keith, pressing him against Shiro’s body. Keith shakes his head vehemently, his eyes are pleading.  Eyes that are now so close to Shiro’s own that he can count the eyelashes framing them.  Shiro hasn’t been to space yet, but he can imagine that it must look something like Keith’s eyes.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 244





	Out of the Box

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this!! It's tagged as underage, because it's Pre-Kerberos, but Keith's age is never stated explicitly.
> 
> 99% of the blame for the title of this fic can be placed on Robin! As well as my thanks for encouraging me to write this and keeping me company in the many sprints it took to get through <3
> 
> Chat with me on Twitter! @/starryskeyes

Shiro is worried. He and Keith had plans to train at four--Keith’s twenty minutes late. It’s not like him to not show up, and he’s rarely late. The sinking pit in Shiro’s stomach tells him something’s wrong. 

He strides on long legs to the cadets’ locker room, retracing Keith’s steps to the best of his knowledge. He’s always surprised when Keith wants to train with him after a day of sparring with his peers, but he never says no. He never says no to Keith, in general.

The locker room is loud, bustling with activity. Cadets change in and out of their training clothes, roughhouse, chat loudly. The raucous noise echoes off of the metal lockers, loud enough to make Shiro wince. He does _not_ miss needing to use this room.

Keith’s locker is on the far side of the room, and Shiro spots him once he turns the corner down a row of lockers. Keith is sitting on a bench in front of his locker, head in his hands. Shiro can see the tension in the set of his shoulders, the clench of his fingers. His fingers itch to reach out, to lay a hand on Keith’s shoulder, but he knows he would startle him.

“Keith?” he calls softly, still a few feet away.

Keith startles, head popping up to meet Shiro’s gaze with wide eyes. His gaze darts wildly around the room, but nobody is around in this particular area. 

“Shiro? What are you doing here?” he asks, and it stings a little. Shiro’s not used to Keith not being happy to see him.

“You didn’t show up to spar, I got worried. Are you okay?” Shiro steps closer, but Keith focuses on the floor in front of his feet, not meeting Shiro’s eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just…” Keith trails off. Shiro knows better than to push him, waiting quietly for when he’s ready to continue. 

“I know I can’t get in any more fights, but those assholes over there _won’t leave,_ ” he says, shooting a dirty look in the direction of the door, or more likely, the group of loud cadets gathered between that door and Keith.

“Do you want to walk out together?” Shiro asks, but he knows the answer. He knows the other cadets give Keith a hard time about Shiro, and that no matter how many times Shiro says that Keith is here on his own merit and skills, the comments they make get to Keith. For such a fiercely independent boy, Keith cares more about what people say about him than he will ever admit.

As if summoned by their low conversation, the sound of the rowdy group of boys grows louder, as if they are moving closer to Shiro and Keith. Keith notices too, whirling into action. He grabs Shiro by the shoulders and maneuvers him around, pushing him backwards into Keith’s open locker. 

Shiro has to stoop to fit, spreading his feet and hunching his shoulders, but for some reason he lets himself be pushed, shuffling back into the locker as Keith pushes in after him. The younger boy is shaking where he presses against Shiro.

“Keith--” he gets out, before Keith slaps a hand over his mouth. The door is slammed shut behind Keith, pressing him against Shiro’s body. Keith shakes his head vehemently, his eyes are pleading. Eyes that are now so close to Shiro’s own that he can count the eyelashes framing them. Shiro hasn’t been to space yet, but he can imagine that it must look something like Keith’s eyes.

He breathes out slowly, and Keith drops his hand from Shiro’s face. Small metal hooks dig into Shiro’s back where it’s pressed against the back of the locker, and his neck is tilted at a weird angle, head pressing against the ceiling. Shiro’s pretty sure he’s never been inside a locker before, and he’s not entirely sure he fits. There’s barely a breath of space between his body and Keith’s, every shift he makes is a shift against the smaller boy’s body.

He can barely hear anything over the thundering of his own heart in his ears. His breaths, sharp and heavy but as quiet as he can manage, mingle with Keith's in the space between their faces. This close, the scent of Keith’s Garrison-issued shampoo is sharp, almost unpleasant. Shiro makes a mental note to pick up something nicer for Keith next time he’s in town. Something that suits him better, maybe jasmine. The smell of Keith beneath it, however, is intoxicating, filling the small space until it’s all Shiro can breathe.

Thinking about Keith’s shampoo, about him in the shower, working sweet smelling suds into his dark hair was definitely a mistake. Shiro bites back a groan at the thought, trying to shuffle his feet back, as far from the press of Keith’s body as he can go. But the heels of his feet meet the back of the locker with a quiet thump before he’s gone more than an inch or two,and the metal hooks dig deeper into the flesh of his back. There really is nowhere to go.

Keith tenses in front of him at the sound, and Shiro holds his breath. The noise in the locker room doesn’t quiet, and Shiro lets out a shaky breath. Keith is still tense, and Shiro wants nothing more than to run soothing hands over his shoulders, to ease the tension out of his lean muscles with soft, reverent touches.

Fuck. More thoughts of touching Keith swirl through his brain, ratcheting up his pulse again. Shiro presses his hips back as hard as he can as the thoughts overtake him. He’s been this close to Keith before, hell, they should be sparring right this moment, but this feels different. When they’re sparring he can control himself, can push away heated thoughts of the feisty boy he’s grappling with, writhing against and below him. Something about the public nature of their fights, the other cadets and officers training, or the knowledge that one of them could walk in at any time, helps him get his raging desire under control.

Until now, that is.

“Where’s Kogane?” he hears from just outside the locker. A group of cadets has gathered right outside, and they sound like trouble.

“Probably off somewhere, sucking Shirogane’s dick,” another answers, and laughter erupts. Keith squeezes his eyes shut, wincing, and Shiro can see a dark blush paint his cheekbones. 

He’s known that Keith has a crush on him for a while. He sees the looks, the blushes that bloom in Keith’s cheeks when Shiro praises him, the stutters in his breath when Shiro rests a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. He loves knowing Keith, teaching him. But more than that he really just _likes_ him. He’s smart, and surprisingly funny once he’s comfortable enough to make jokes, and he is just so good.

He knew the other boys teased Keith about his relationship with Shiro, but not quite like that. Images of Keith, kneeling before him, sweet mouth stretched around Shiro’s cock, flash through Shiro’s mind unbidden. He bites back a groan at the thought.

One of the cadets gets close, close enough for Shiro to see the whites of his eyes through the slits in the locker behind Keith’s head, and Shiro’s panic mounts. Keith sees the look in his eyes, and presses, away from the locker door and the slits that cast dim, dappled light onto their faces. He presses against Shiro, hips pressed against Shiro’s own, against Shiro’s painfully hard cock, and freezes. 

Neither of them move, barely daring to breathe. In thin training sweats, Shiro knows there’s no mistaking the hard length pressed against Keith. 

There’s also no mistaking how hard Keith is, too.

An almost silent breath shudders out of Keith, and without warning he _thrusts forward_. It’s gentle, barely a movement at all, but it stutters Shiro’s heart and his breathing. Without thinking his own hips twitch forward, jagged and graceless, and Keith’s breath hitches in response. They grind slowly, Shiro’s cock is leaking and achy and Keith’s own slides against it _perfectly._ They’re both panting now, the sounds quiet and sharp. 

Heat dances under Shiro’s skin, and the small space around them feels hotter, denser, with each passing second. Keith is trembling against him, shuddering apart, but he doesn’t stop moving against Shiro. If anything he pushes harder, with more confidence, and it takes Shiro apart. 

His fingers press into Keith’s hips, squeezing hard enough to leave a bruise. Images flash in his mind, purple shadows the shape of Shiro’s splayed fingers across Keith’s slender hips, dark against his pale skin, and the tiniest moan escapes his lips. 

Keith is all sharp angles and lean muscles, a wild creature in Shiro’s grasp. His hands cover Shiro’s, and if Shiro had any thoughts about letting go, they vanish in the wake of Keith’s grip, pinning Shiro’s fingers between heated skin. Keith’s head falls back against the locker door with a small, almost inaudible clang, and Shiro fights the urge to lick a line up his throat.

Shiro marvels at the size of Keith, his slim hips tiny in his grasp. He moves the smaller boy against him, and Keith goes pliant in his grip. He lets Shiro move him, and Shiro _takes_. He slides Keith’s however he wants, pushing against him until even through their pants, the slide of their cocks together is lewd. He fucks against him like that, overwhelmed by the way Keith moves against him, the way they move together. His fingers dig into the meat of Keith’s ass, small and pert and perfect in his grip.

A tiny whimper escapes Keith’s lips, and he freezes again, making to pull away. Shiro considers letting him for half a thought, but decides against it. His right hand leaves Keith’s hip, covering Keith’s mouth instead, mesmerized by the heat of Keith’s breath against his skin. With this grip he can _feel_ more than hear the catches in Keith’s pants, the bitten off noises he’s fighting. He pushes against Keith again, and the vibration of Keith’s smothered moan goes straight to his dick. 

They move together like that, Keith letting Shiro guide his hips as they push against Shiro’s. He’s not entirely passive, digging his nails into Shiro’s forearm while he grinds his cock against Shiro’s with shuddering thrusts. Shiro’s gasping, senses aflame and awash in everything _Keith_. 

Shiro wishes he could tell Keith how good he’s doing, tell him how pretty he looks. Instead, he settles for shifting his legs until he can push one between Keith’s, pressing hard. He guides Keith’s hips, helping him rut against Shiro’s thigh. His teeth glint sharply in the dim light, eyes bright. 

He’s the prettiest thing Shiro’s ever seen.

The sound of the cadets’ conversation fades away, and as it does, Shiro realizes how quiet the room has become. With the last training class of the day over, and dinner being served soon, they are most likely the only two left in there. 

Shiro could reach down, could unlock and open the door and free them. He could stop this.

But he doesn’t.

Their footsteps recede and Shiro slowly, painstakingly, pulls his hand from where it covers Keith’s mouth. Keith rides his thigh, a small moan spilling from his lips, and the it’s the best fucking thing Shiro’s ever heard. He presses his thumb against Keith’s bottom lip, pushing into his mouth slightly, and the warm wetness enveloping it drives him crazy. Shiro growls, actually _growls_ and drags his thumb down, pulling at Keith’s lower lip, smearing spit across his chin.

“”Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, and revels in the way Keith whimpers at the words. He buries his face in the dip of Keith’s shoulder as the younger boy thrusts against him. His hot breaths paint the side of Keith’s neck, fluttering his hair. He’s not so much kissing Keith’s neck as he is smearing his lips against his soft skin, reveling in the perfect way Keith sounds and smells and _feels_. 

Shiro drags his thumb down over the fabric of Keith’s pants, trailing a touch over the shape of his cock. The fabric is damp where the tip juts against it, and it sends a thrill through Shiro. Keith’s thrusts stagger and stop at the touch. His face is open, vulnerable, as he looks up at Shiro, panting heavily. 

Slowly, Shiro’s fingers work their way from Keith’s hip to the waistband of his flimsy training pants, plucking the strings until he can reach in and wrap his fingers around Keith firmly.  
Keith’s cock is a perfect handful, hot and velvety soft, and Shiro thumbs over the head, spreading precome messily over Keith. Keith cries out, a small sharp thing, and his hand slams against the side of the wall. 

Shiro coos at him, urging Keith’s arm up until his hand is clutching the back of Shiro’s neck. He’s desperate and shaking and Shiro has never seen anything hotter. Shiro keeps stroking him in time with their grinding, Keith shudders and jerks in his hold. Keith holds on to him tight, nails digging into Shiro’s skin until Shiro is hissing with pain and pleasure. 

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Shiro whispers. Keith wails, and Shiro can’t find it in himself to shush him. The sound goes straight to Shiro’s cock, still painfully hard and a little neglected now. 

Shiro speeds up, fucking his hand over Keith’s cute cock faster and faster, urged on by the way Keith is shuddering and gasping against him. Keith’s mouth hangs open slightly, eyes dazed, until they fly open wide. His grip tightens on Shiro as he jerks violently, orgasm ripping through him. 

“Yes, that’s it baby, come for me,” Shiro whispers, Keith’s come coats Shiro’s fingers as they glide, smearing against both of their clothes. Shiro strokes him through it until Keith whimpers with oversensitivity, jerking away a little. 

They’re both panting hard, chests heaving against each other in the confined space. Keith’s body is a hot line against his, fire dancing under their skin. Shiro’s never seen Keith’s face this relaxed, this blissful, and for a moment he forgets that he’s still hard and leaking in his own pants, ridiculously turned on by everything about Keith.

Keith’s eyes flutter open, and the dancing shadows cast by his lashes sends a sharp spike of desire through Shiro. His cock twitches where it’s trapped against Keith’s hip. Keith’s eyes darken into the deep violet Shiro usually only sees on the sparring mat. 

Keith starts shifting against him, like he’s trying to make room between their bodies. All at once, Shiro remembers that they are shoved inside a metal locker, and he is the one who can reach the latch to let them out. So he fumbles for it, intending to let them both out, to take a deep breath and put a leash on his libido. 

But Keith’s hand on his own, and the small, hesitant shake of the cadet’s head stops him. As if in answer to the question in Shiro’s gaze, Keith begins to slide down. His body drags against Shiro’s as he goes, his knees hitting the ground between Shiro’s feet with a soft thump.

The thoughts Shiro had about walking away, about waiting to take care of himself once he was alone in his room, vanish instantly. There’s no room for _any_ thoughts in his head as he looks down at Keith, nuzzling against the outline of his hard cock. 

“Keith…” he whispers softly, an assurance and a plea.

Keith doesn’t stop, rubbing his cheek lightly against Shiro, and looking up at him with gorgeous eyes wide.

“You don’t--” Shiro swallows, “you don’t have to.”

Keith nods, gulping. Shiro brushes hair away from his face softly, reveling in how it feels against his fingers.

“I want to.”

Keith’s reply floats up to him, barely audible, and Shiro groans softly. Keith looks so pretty between his legs, so fucking _perfect_. Shiro is wrecked.

Keith’s slender fingers tug at Shiro’s pants gently, working them down to the tops of his thighs. His cock bobs, heavy and thick, when it’s freed. It looks absurdly big next to Keith’s narrow face, and Shiro wonders how much of it he can actually take. 

Desperate to find out, Shiro pushes forward just a little, until the tip of his cock bumps against Keith’s lips. Keith whimpers, opening his mouth, and Shiro presses in farther. Keith moans softly, and the sound vibrates through Shiro’s entire body. He gasps, clenching his fist in Keith’s hair and jerking forward almost against his will. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry--” Shiro says, and pulls back as far as he can go. But Keith growls and wraps his hands around Shiro’s hips, stopping him.

Shiro’s shaking, desperate for the wet heat of Keith’s mouth, but he forces himself to stay still. Keith wraps his lips around the cockhead, licking experimentally and humming when Shiro twitches in his mouth.

Keith looks so pretty, so much better than Shiro’s wildest fantasies, soft lips stretched around Shiro’s cock. He suckles gently, tasting Shiro like he’s something decadent. Then his hands are urging Shiro’s hips forward, pulling his cock farther into his mouth.

Shiro tries to keep his thrusts slow and gentle. His hand cushions Keith’s head where it’s pushed against the locker door, thumb sweeping gently over his hair. It takes everything he has not to fuck into Keith’s mouth hard, to go slow enough for Keith to adjust. 

Keith’s fingers dig into his hips, a mirror reflection of Shiro’s earlier grip. Shiro hopes they bruise. He thrusts faster, cock filling Keith’s tight mouth to the brim, until he’s bumping against his throat and Keith is choking periodically and digging his nails into Shiro’s skin.

“Keith, fuck--” Shiro gets out, shuddering apart with his impending orgasm. 

He can’t remember the last time he felt this good. He’s holding Keith’s head with both hands now, fingers tangled hard in his mess of hair while he rocks into his mouth.

His rhythm staggers as his pleasure swells, filling every inch of his skin and threatening to burst. He’s babbling nonsense, cooing praise and encouragement at Keith while he ravages his mouth. He wants to burn this image into his memory, Keith kneeling snug between his legs, dappled in lines of fluorescent light, while he takes every inch of Shiro’s cock that he can handle, and then a little more. 

Shiro barely has time to stutter out a warning before he’s coming, spilling into Keith’s waiting mouth and across his lips. He twitches forward a few times, savoring the blissed out look on Keith’s face as Shiro makes a mess of it. 

“Oh my god,” Shiro mutters quietly, leaning his head forward against the locker door, and the cool metal barely soothes the flame blooming across his skin. Slowly the reality of the situation hits him, carried into his brain by the smell of dirty gym clothes and the bruises he can feel forming along his back.  
Now, he does reach down and fumble slightly for the latch, keeping a firm grip on Keith as he opens the door slowly. The room appears to be empty, so Shiro opens the door wider and helps Keith out, stepping out himself and stretching. He might need to ice his neck tonight from the weird angle and the strain, but other than that, he’s never felt better. 

Keith’s quiet, studying the floor again. He shifts on his feet, and Shiro knows he’s thinking about bolting.

Shiro reaches out a hand, lifting Keith’s gaze to meet his own with a knuckle under his chin.

“Hi,” Shiro says, with a soft smile.

Color blooms in Keith’s cheeks, darker than Shiro’s ever seen it, but he doesn’t look away.

“Hi,” Keith says back. The corner of his mouth twitches up in an almost-smile.

“Want to go get dinner?” Shiro asks, swiping his thumb across Keith’s lower lip and chin, cleaning up the mess he made. Keith’s nod is a barely there movement, and Shiro feels it against his fingers more than sees it.

Keith’s lips are swollen and pink, and Shiro can’t help swooping down to press a sweet, soft kiss to them. When he pulls back, Keith’s eyes are wide in surprise, mouth open in a cute little ‘o’. 

“Let’s go, then,” Shiro says. He wraps an arm around Keith and they make their way down to the mess hall, just like that.


End file.
